The cow-tipping point

 I’m still alive! It seems that I’ve become so immersed in my topic that I lost track of my writing. Or in other words I’m exhausted as hell everyday and a beer and bed seem  mush more appealing than typing.  But, I promised myself I would stick to my blog, and people are actually reading this so I gotsta represent and bring it.  So tonight It’s beer, bed, and lap-top time.

 Since my last entry I’ve started reading a book titled “The Tipping Point” by Malcom Gladwell . He discusses how several small occurrences can lead to drastic events such as new trends or widespread viruses.  How different variables keep building upon one another until one more causes a tip and can lead to drastic results. I Believe I have reached my personal tipping point. I’m not exactly sure when it occurred but somewhere between slaughtering and cooking a pig and slaughtering and cooking a groundhog, I tipped, and I don’t think I can ever go back.

 

When I started I assumed eventually I would just get acclimated to farm life and it turns out instead that farm life has just become my life. I have seen and done things I would have never imagined. I start my day inspecting the poop stains on my clothes to decide which are least dirty to wear.  After my first load of laundry on the farm I realized that since the cows are entirely grass fed, their buts are basically super soakers full of liquid grass stain.  It’s like a mid 90’s nickelodeon game show in the barn. I just sit around waiting to get slimed every day. And there is nothing more bone chilling than hearing that “plopp” of the first dollop hitting the ground, not knowing where it came from or how far away from the splash zone you are. At first I ran away like it was D-day and now I have succumbed to the plop, I turn my head and accept the inevitable.  It’s sorta like getting on a plane and telling yourself it’s gonna crash, it just makes it less of a shock when it does.  And so I wake everyday and prepare myself to be shit on.

 

I’m not really sure how I feel about it though. I accept it and in a way it fills the void of testosterone and butchness I’ve lacked for many years, just walking around dirty and sweaty face to face with horned beasts. But, on the other hand I think “What the fuck!” I need a whole new wardrobe.  The farmer actually informed me the other day that I have the most milking outfits he’s ever seen from any apprentice. He especially liked my green t-shirt with the cowboy on it and green gargo’s rolled up like lederhosen ensemble I put together.  It hides the stains most and provides adequate air circulation.  He also offered to pick me up a straw hat of my very own at the hardware store.  YeehaAA!

 

I really feel like I have impressed him. I feel it was the groundhog that set me apart from the others. I don’t think he actually meant it when I asked what we do with the groundhog’s we trap on the farm and he said, “well you can always cook em.” But I jumped on that faster than a pig on slop and am proud to say I turned would be road kill into haute cuisine! 

 

We caught the groundhog in a cage trap with bread bait.  It seemed a bit dramatic to use a 22 rifle to shoot the 5-pound animal in the head but it sure as hell killed it quick. I took over again to do the dirty throat cutting and gutting.  It’s so much easier to just skin an animal than to have to scald and scrape one. The fur came off beautifully and I managed to keep the ears and whiskers on its face. I have read about using a pureed pig brain concoction to tan the hide but I have yet to make the brain smoothie to try it. The gutting required a bit more delicacy than the pig and I managed to avoid any delayed bowel movements. It’s stomach smelt like salad actually, was a little weird.

 

 After you skin and gut them groundhogs look very similar in size and structure to a rabbit just with a bit of a different head.  Examining how lean the meat was I decided it was best to cook it either very hot and quick or long and low. Though, they build up a considerable amount of fat inbetween their skin and flesh, the amount of intramuscular fat (marbeling), that helps keep meat moist as it cooks, was barely existent.  So I found some inspiration in a bistro cookbook and substituted coq for mormotte au vin.  I seared the meat and simmered it in pig stock, made from quazimoto, and Paul Mason’s finest burgundy.  The flesh was tender and moist with a soft almost sweet gamey flavor. Everyone seemed to enjoy it and our Peruvian farm apprentice said it was better than guinea pig. I think that’s a compliment. My plan for the next groundhog carcass, I currently have stored in the freezer, is to try deep-frying it like chicken wings! With all the fur I’m hopping to make either a really fucking awesome hat or some cute little fur shorts. But first I need to acquire a pig brain.  I think there is one in the freezer too. 

Like I said, there is no going back.